


living another life

by FancifulRivers



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, No Mercy mentions, Non-Binary Chara, Non-Binary Frisk, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Undertale Soulless Pacifist Route, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-02 20:58:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12734187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancifulRivers/pseuds/FancifulRivers
Summary: Chara is tired of pretending to be Frisk.Sans isn't the best confidante.





	living another life

It's a good thing you've spent so much time in Frisk's body already. It's still clumsy sometimes, like you're operating unfamiliar controls, but you're getting better at it. You smile like Frisk would and you try to remember not to talk very much, because Frisk's selectively mute and prefers to use their hands. It frustrates you sometimes, because you're used to your hands being stiff and painful, but you do it anyway. It's what Frisk wants.

Frisk's still around. They aren't dead. They aren't a ghost like you, hanging onto some strange kid's body like they have a right to be anything more than moldering. But they're...quiet. They have been ever since they freed the monsters. Ever since they broke the barrier. They just sort of...faded into the background and now you're the only one who can step up to the plate and pilot most days.

You're so damn  _tired_  of it. You're sick of being sweet, gentle Frisk, who's friends with all the monsters, even the comedian (whose empty eye sockets always feel like they can  _see_  you, like he can  _remember_  what happened when you took over the first time, out of frustration and grief). You're sick of being ambassador, sick of going to school, sick of pretending to be something and someone you just  _aren't_.

But Frisk needs you. And you  _owe_  them. You don't know how, but they got Flowey out of the underground. He's not your brother anymore, but he's the closest thing you've got, even if he does look ridiculous in a flowerpot on the windowsill. It's hard to remember to interact with him like Frisk would sometimes. You want to make snarky comments and flick his leaves until he sulks at you or says something shitty or knocks everything off the sill again.

That's not "Frisk" behavior though, so you just smile at him and paste more stupid stickers on his pot and make sure he has enough water. You hug your mom (that, at least, requires nothing new), make spaghetti with Papyrus (trying desperately to fix his concoctions before they become  _completely_  inedible), and even type out lengthy pun wars with Sans. Frisk gives their input on those, and it's one of the few things that makes them laugh anymore.

Maybe that's why you find yourself poised on his doorstep one chilly January morning, school backpack an uncomfortable reminder between your shoulderblades. You know that Frisk wouldn't skip school, especially not to talk to a fucking skeleton, but you don't care. You don't know why you want to talk to him of all people. Of all the monsters, he's the only one you think  _remembers_ , and the thought terrifies you. You already wake up from more than enough nightmares with your mom's dust on your hands. You don't need another bone cascade slammed through your stomach. You even saved this morning before walking over and that's  _Frisk's_  thing, not yours. You kind of wouldn't mind waking up one morning and having to do all this aboveground shit over if it means Frisk's the one stuck doing it instead.

Not even ditching school is enough to rouse Frisk from their self-induced torpor, so you ring his doorbell, shifting nervously from foot to foot.  _He's going to kill you when he knows it's you, you know that, right?_  Your brain helpfully reminds you.  _If he even_ knows _it's you. If he even knows you're a person. What if he_ doesn't _remember you at all? What are you gonna do then, asshole?_

"Shut  _up_ ," you snarl under your breath. You have very awkward timing as the door opens right as you say it and there's Sans, staring at you.

"i uh, didn't say anything," he says, and you blush so hard, you feel like your cheeks are going to explode.

"That wasn't directed at you," you tell him, and feel stupider. 

"shouldn't you be in school?" He asks, and you huff out a breath. He's right. This is dumb. You should just go to school now, take the detention for tardiness, and be done with it.

"Can I come in?" You blurt out instead, and want to stab yourself. He doesn't say anything, but he shuffles back so you have enough room. You sidle past him, half-expecting a tibia between your shoulders at any second.

"so what's up?" He asks. You flop down on the sofa, discarding your backpack to one side. Now that you're here, you don't really know what to say. You kind of hoped that it would prod Frisk into actually taking over, if you're honest with yourself. Either before you got here or now that you're in front of him, in his shitty blue jacket and pink bedroom slippers with the fluffy pom-poms at the top.

Instead, Frisk seems more determined than ever to stay hidden, like if they stay quiet long enough, you'll decide fun's over and just go to school.

They should know you better than that.

"Do you-" You stop, taking a deep breath. This is harder than you thought it would be. Do you just blurt out you aren't Frisk? Do you try to lead up to it, hoping that sooner rather than later, he'll understand what you're trying to say?

Do you pull a knife on him and let body memory do the talking? 

Your stomach twinges at the last thought, so hard you nearly lose your breath. Okay, that one's out. Not that you planned on it anyway. You're out of practice and besides, Frisk was always the one better at dodging.

"Does it ever seem like maybe this is all for nothing?" You try instead. You can't tell, but you think his eyes have gotten more intent. "Like...like maybe it's just all one big shit show, and you can't-"

You stop.  _Shit._ You forgot already that Frisk doesn't like talking and Frisk  _definitely_ doesn't like swearing and is that a wisp of ghostly blue in his eye? Yes, it is.

"Frisk isn't dead!" You blurt out. For some dumb reason, you hoped that would make Sans relax. The ghostly blue intensifies, until you swear you can feel the heat of the Gaster Blasters already closing in.

"and how do i know you're telling the truth, kid?" Sans asks. You swallow hard. You have no idea.

"I don't know," you admit. "They uh- they do the pun wars with you! That's Frisk! I fucking hate puns," you grumble, more to yourself than anything.

"language," he says, and you glare at him. What does it matter what you say? You've been dead for longer than you can remember, does it really matter if you say 'fuck?'

"Frisk has just- I don't know what to  _do_ , okay?" You slump down against the couch. "It's been me since the barrier broke. We share a body, I don't know why I ended up sticking around, I just- They faded into the background and  _someone_ had to move the body around, so I've gone to school and tried to pretend Papyrus can make spaghetti worth a fuck and watched anime with Alphys and Undyne and I- I'm  _tired_ of it, it's all bullshit-" You slam your fist down on your thigh, then freeze, remembering where you are. A cautious peek upward shows that Sans hasn't moved.

"are you tired of life or are you tired of pretending?" Sans asks. You stare at him.

"What?" You ask, feeling like an idiot.

"well, the way i see it, those are two pretty different situations," he says. "if you're tired of life, well, sorry, but i can't let you off frisk's body, especially with the kiddo still in there. but if you're tired of pretending, why don't you just...stop?"

"Because I can't just be myself!" You exclaim. "I- that- You don't  _understand_ -"

"maybe i don't," he says. "so why don't you explain it to me?" Like it's that easy. Like you can just blurt out all your life's problems and why you can't just run around telling everyone a dead kid has resurrected in another kid's body. Like you can just-

"Do you remember the first kid who fell in the underground?" You ask. Your voice is oddly brittle. He stares at you, and you think there's confusion on that smooth white bone.

"the dreemurrs' kid?" He asks for clarification. You nod. "yeah, i remember them. they died."

You lift one of Frisk's hands in a little half-wave, smiling bitterly.

"Surprise!" You say as you feel hot tears slide down your cheeks.

"huh," Sans says. "so how does that work exactly?"

"Fuck if I know," you say, slouching down into the couch. "One minute, I was moldering bones and the next- the next minute, I was riding along in some other kid's body. And I-" You swallow hard. "I did some pretty fucked up things."

"i know," Sans tells you. You don't want to look up, too afraid to see if soul-searing blue is about to obliterate you.

"I don't know why I did it," you feel compelled to tell him that. "Frisk went along but I- I don't know why they did that, either. It just- it got easier the more I did it, and all I could see was- was dust, and-" You feel your breathing speed up, and you think you're going to have a panic attack. But you never have panic attacks. Those are Frisk's. Like when you stuck a knife in Mom's back. Frisk couldn't breathe and they kept crying about it and you didn't cry. You definitely didn't cry. Demons like you don't cry.

But you're crying now. And Frisk is still hiding. Like a coward, you want to snipe, but you know they're not. They're just...tired. But you are, too, damn it, and why don't you get to rest? Is this your punishment for dusting the entire Underground? Shouldn't it be so much worse?

"We ch-chose to reset together," you tell the skeleton, because that feels important, too. You want him to know it was your idea, too. Your  _choice_ , too. "To make things right."

He looks thoughtful.

"But I can't- I can't tell anyone it's me," you say. "Well- anyone  _else_ ," you grumble, belatedly remembering you've already told the sack of bones in front of you.

"why not?" Sans asks. 

"I'm supposed to be  _dead_ , how do you think Mom and- and Dad would take it?" You ask, because you don't want to think about the other reasons, you don't want to think about explaining that you got their child, their  _real_ child, dead, that you ate buttercups, that it wasn't a mysterious wasting disease at all, it was your own stupidity, and-

"breathe," the skeleton says, too close for comfort, and only then do you realize that if it were Frisk, you'd qualify this as a panic attack. 

But it's not Frisk, it's you, and dead kids can't have panic attacks, so you straighten up indignantly and pretend that your heart isn't beating so hard you can feel it and your breath isn't a wheeze.

"i think tori and asgore would bonely be thrilled," Sans says quietly. "tibia honest with you." You roll your eyes at him. Stupid  _puns_. The only benefit is that it brings Frisk a little closer to the land of the awake.

"That's because you don't know what- what else happened," you say, staring down into your lap. You itch for your knife. If it was your body, you wouldn't even hesitate. Maybe you would still even have some real human blood pumping through your shitty veins. But it's Frisk's body and even though you know they self harm (and even though you've harmed their body when things got to be too much), it makes you feel wrong. It's not as much of a relief as you thought it would be.

"what happened?" Sans prompts.

"Once upon a time," you begin, slightly hoarse (because Frisk's throat is so unused to talking, that's all, it's certainly not because you want to cry). "There was a fucked up kid named Chara. A  _demon_ kid named Chara. And they climbed a mountain because they never wanted anyone to find them ever again. And they- they fell down a hole, into the world of monsters..."

It feels like some weird unloading of your soul as you go on, talking about sharing a room with Asriel, of learning how to knit from Toriel and learning how to brew tea from Asgore. Of arguing about crayons with your new brother and wearing the same sweaters. Of exploring the underground and meeting the monsters. Of the hope brimming in everyone's eyes when they looked at you.

Of how you fucked up. 

Of how you fucked up trying to fix your original fuck-up.

"Buttercups  _hurt_ ," you tell your lap, because you refuse to look up. You don't want to see Sans' face. Hell, for all you know, he's not even in the room anymore. Maybe he doesn't want to hear your pathetic whining anymore than you do. 

You tell him about handfuls of yellow petals, washed down with sips of metal-flavored water (because the blisters in your throat kept bursting open). You even tell him about pissing blood and how humiliated you were when Mom found out. She never yelled at you or scolded you, but you felt like shit all the same, because you knew (you still know) it's all your fault.

You tell him about death. You tell him about the human world and being with Asriel and how Asriel wouldn't hurt anyone, how he just let them hurt him. Let them  _kill_ him. You tell him how you hated Ree for a couple moments there, because if he would just  _fight back_ , maybe this wouldn't be happening.

You tell him about being buried. You know that other kids landed in the golden flowers above your withering bones, but you never had any connection with them. Not really. Not as soon as your mom took them away. But Frisk has determination like you, Frisk's soul is red like you (red like blood, but you don't think about that where Frisk can hear). Frisk makes you wake up.

"And now I'm stuck here," you say. Your throat hurts and your mouth is dry from talking so much. "As soon as we broke the barrier and- got things settled, I guess, Frisk just...faded."

"it's not your fault," Sans says. You blink, raising your head to stare at him. He looks uncomfortable, hands stuffed in the pockets of his ratty blue coat, but not like he's  _lying_. You think, anyway.

"What?" You ask.

"any of it," he says, like it's just that simple. "you were a kid, chara. kids do dumb things. me and paps-" He shrugs. "i'm sure we did when we were kids."

"You were  _kids_?" You say in disbelief. He laughs.

"hard to bee-leaf, i know," he says.

"That still doesn't mean Mom wants to- wants to know I'm here," you mumble into your lap. "Ree was her kid, it's-"

"she mourned you both," Sans says, leaning forward. "equally. you were her kid just as much as asriel was." You blink at him, feeling much like an owl.

"Okay, but what do I do about Frisk then?" You demand. "They won't come  _out_. It's like they just did what they had to do and  _gave up_ and it's not fucking  _fair_ , I don't want to live their life! I wanted to live  _mine_ but I fucked that up, so the least they could do is let me lay down and  _die_ already!" You stop, breathing hard. Your hands are clenched into fists, fingernails biting deeply into your palms. When you release them, you can see crescent-shaped bruises starting to welt up.

"no, it's not fair," Sans agrees quietly. Your mouth hangs open. Out of all the things you expect him to say, that's not one of them.

"I don't want to do it anymore," you tell him, just as quietly. The clock ticking is the only sound that fills the air. You can feel Frisk stirring, but not enough to come forward from their little corner, not enough to  _do_ anything. "I just- I don't know."

"tell you what," he says, coming closer. You tense a little, but he doesn't seem like he wants to slam a bone through your throat at least, so you don't do anything stupid, like yank out a knife. "what do you think about telling tori and asgore you're still around?"

"I- I don't-" Fear clogs your throat. 

"think about it," he tells you. "it's not like you're replacing frisk. you're just...there, too. two for one special. and-" His eyes turn serious for a moment. You think. "they deserve to know."

You swallow hard.

"Okay," you say, barely above a whisper.

"now how about i getcha to school?" Sans asks, eyeing your backpack. "i'll tell the office something. you won't get in trouble."

"I'm always in trouble," you grumble, but even as you stand up and sling your backpack over your shoulders, you feel strangely lighter.

_I'm sorry,_ Frisk whispers as you start to follow Sans out the door.  _I've been- it's been hard. I didn't know it was so hard on you, too. I'll try to- to be around more._

It's a start.


End file.
